Coping
by AtinBralor
Summary: Another ficlet set after the spaceport siege in Karen Traviss' short story 'Targets'. I guess it could be said that this is about the start of Fi and Ordo's bond.


**After Spaceport Siege in Karen Traviss' short story 'Targets'**

_**AN: If you've not read 'Targets' then this may not make sense, but the basic outline of the story is that the Commandos are sent in to deal with a siege – the Jedi who is sent to negotiate for a peaceful end to the siege is sent back out dead with a bomb strapped to him – there is no time to do anything and Fi throws himself on the body and bomb to smother the blast. He is okay because they have greatly enhanced armour and they go on to take control and shoot all hostiles. Fi has another moment during the twenty seconds it takes them to get control where he nearly shoots their training sergeant Kal Skirata – a man who is to all intents and purposes their father figure. It's not a good day for Fi.**_

* * *

Arca Barracks, Coruscant 20:30

The halls were quiet at this time of night, and anyone idling gave them little attention, even with the Arc Captain striding along beside them and Fi's filthy, stinking armour. The sniper was walking with care now that the adrenaline had worn off and the aches were kicking in.

They turned towards the mess to scavenge something to eat but he didn't follow them, instead continuing towards their room. He had got a few metres down the hall when Atin jogged back to him. "Not hungry?"

Fi considered the statement, aware that hunger was gnawing at his gut but he couldn't stomach sitting down in armour coated in human remains. He glanced at Niner who had reappeared at the corner of the hall to give him a look of concern. "I'm going to lick my bruises. Bring something back for me when you're done." He turned away and continued to ease himself down the hall, determined not to limp for fear that they would force him into a bacta tank for a quick healing session before they shipped out in the morning. He didn't want to lose what little time they had free in a tank.

Atin reappeared at his side, falling into step with him, offering him an arm to lean on. He didn't say anything, but he often didn't; he was just 'there' whenever he was needed. He had gone from a ball of sharp energy that clashed with the other three commandos to a serene and gentle being. It was amazing what a difference his sense of belonging had made to his character. Fi had had Atin down as trouble when they had first met and had found himself regularly frustrated by his apparent lack of care for the welfare of Darman when he was separated from them. Now he could see that Atin had distanced himself from the source of emotional pain, the same as they all did if they could.

Fi paused to key in the code at their door and then stumbled through the gap as it opened, finally letting himself hobble now that they were out of view; he trusted Atin not to try to force him into a tank. He made for the 'fresher, desperate to get himself and his armour under the water to wash away the accumulated blood and unidentified gore. He was aware of Atin standing in the 'fresher doorway, unclipping his armour plates and watching him with a smile on his lips. "In or out, ner vod, you make a poor excuse for a door." He didn't care whether his brother kept him company; he was past caring, he just wanted to get clean. He expected him to slip out and leave but was mildly surprised to see him step inside properly and close the door behind him, stacking his plates on the floor and pulling his body suit down to the waist to examine the freshly healed Verp wound.

There was nothing to stare at; they were one and the same, but he couldn't help finding his gaze lingering on the raised scar tissue on his brother's arms and torso. They all had scars; it came with the job, but Atin's were unusual due to the sheer number of them, and the fact that they looked like they were from a bladed weapon. Fi didn't ask and he wouldn't ask. It was something that he knew that it must be part of what haunted Atin. Sometimes the commando would seem to slip back into himself and shut out all external stimuli, and other times he had seen him thrash himself awake in the night, utterly silent but clearly terrified. He would share the story when he was ready to and there was no sense in distressing him by digging against his wishes.

Fi returned his attention to his own business, stripping off the now clean armour and suit to stand naked under the glorious jet of hot water. He gave his own body an appraising look, slightly shocked by the extent of the bruising; no wonder he felt so bad. He took a palm full of soap and began to slowly lather it over his arms, unable to bring himself to touch his chest or stomach. The bruise from the trial Verp shot stood out among the mass of discoloured skin as a sharp blackish-purple smudge; he felt he couldn't really complain about that one since he'd offered himself as test subject. "Look what your shot did to me, At'ika!"

Atin turned away from the mirror to look at him, cocking his head slightly. "Fi, you're bruised from head to toe; you can't blame my little shot for it all." He took a few steps closer, tilting his head the other way, looking like an Akk getting a better view on the situation. "Are you sure you've not broken anything? Are your ribs okay? No internal pain?" He wasn't a medic, but they all had basics in combat first aid so that they could help Fi or others when he was unable to. He stood just outside of the reach of the splashing water. "You're going to have this place sailing. Niner'll go spare."

Fi shook his head slowly, grimacing. "I'm fine. Even if I've got broken ribs, you can't do much more than strap them up." He washed the accumulated soap from his arms. "It's okay, they're not broken; maybe a lot of bruising, but not broken." He gestured around the small room. "And it's essentially a wet room; a little water won't do it any harm."

"What about Jedi entrails?" It was out of Atin's mouth before his brain caught up; a blunt summation of the situation.

Fi gulped visibly, paling. He had been trying to forget what had coated his plates in such a foul smelling, sticking residue. He wasn't usually squeamish, but once the adrenaline and emotional detachment of hard contact wore off, it was hard to reconcile having someone exploded under you. It was one of a rapidly growing collection of images that he knew he'd never forget until the day he died. He lost his internal battle and had to bolt across the slippery floor to the basin, vomiting foul tasting bile. He had nothing in his stomach but that didn't stop the nausea in these situations. He clamped his mouth shut and held a deep breath for a count off three, running the tap and hanging his head in the hope of staving off any more waves. It didn't matter how much he tried to shut his mind to the images, he could now smell the smell that had coated him, feeling it as if it were on his skin. He felt Atin drape a towel around him and grasp his shoulders in comfort as he gripped the edge of the basin and hung miserably, gulping in breaths and trying to spit the foul tendrils into the sink, feeling that it would never stop.

Atin rubbed his shoulders with his thumbs, guilt flowing over him. He didn't often open his mouth but he felt comfortable and confident around Fi. He hadn't meant to say something so distasteful but the nerves still running through his body made him leap for the obvious thoughts. He was a literal thinking man. "Easy, Fi. It's okay…I'm sorry…" He retreated to get a bottle of water then brought it back so that his brother could rinse his mouth. He was waiting for Fi to make a joke. Fi always made a joke when the going got tough…but he just hung to the sink and sniffled quietly as tears ran down his cheeks. He seemed to be barely even aware of Atin at his shoulder. He was so absorbed in the memory.

Atin glanced over his shoulder as he heard the main door to their squad room open and ducked his head out to see what the others were doing back so early. But it wasn't Niner or Darman…it was Ordo. "How did you get in?" _Only the squad had the passcode for the room._

Ordo gave him a slightly amused look, as if he got that question a lot. "I may not be as good as some of my brothers, but I can still get in pretty much anywhere I want." He looked over Atin's shoulder with a frown, realising that something was going on. "…that and your brothers told me the key." He stepped towards the 'fresher but was stopped by Atin's arm.

The scarred commando pulled back abruptly at the expression on the ARC captain's face. "Sorry…Fi's just trying to process it all."

"I'll stay with him. Go and get some skraan." Ordo didn't wait for an answer. He was already herding him towards the door. "I think I'm more than equipped to lend an experienced ear to someone traumatised…"

Atin allowed himself to be steered out the room reluctantly and went to join his brothers in the mess hall. It was quiet and they ate in relative silence.

They all knew what was going on without Atin needing to explain.

When they returned to the bunk room Fi was asleep, curled up tight under the blanket and Ordo was sitting patiently on Niner's bed with Fi's clean armour spread around him. He had the final piece in his hands and was checking all the catches to ensure it was in prime condition. _He didn't get the chance to do this for his own brothers very often because they had been spread across the galaxy to do the Chancellor's bidding. He was lucky if he saw them once in six months…often longer for the likes of Jaing and Kom'rk who were deeply undercover tracking Grievous. _He placed the plate on top of the pile and stood up to allow Niner his bunk back. "He'll sleep through the night. Make sure he has a good breakfast in him before you head out, and keep an eye on him." He stood up to leave, wanting to find Kal again and make sure they he was alright after the siege.

There was always work to be done in the city that never slept.

* * *

Fi seemed in better spirits when he woke early with the squad to prepare for their next assignment. They had all expected him to need time to talk it over with them all, but whatever Ordo had said or done had gone some ways to healing the psychological wounds.

He even managed a joke when they found out they were going to be on zero-g TIV work with a pilot named Sicko. They all knew Fi made jokes to help himself cope with the life they were given, but it was when he went silent that they knew that had to worry, so even the half-hearted humour was enough to relax them and they slipped back in to their own places in the squad dynamic as surely as if they had grown up together rather than being a mongrel squad with mere weeks together.

War did that to you. It took four men grieving for their lost brothers and thrust them together in to the fray. It didn't take long for the common bond to grow and they would defend each other till their last breath.

That was what being a brother was all about.

* * *

_**This might be the last thing for a wee while again. Last coursework goes in on 10th April so the finish line is in sight, but that does mean the final push is about to start. This was another nearly finished drabble that just needed tidied up so it seemed fair to take it out of retirement before I go in to hibernation again. I will see you all on the other side! - Atin**_


End file.
